


After the Crash

by captainoutoftime



Category: Captain America
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-18 01:28:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2330240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainoutoftime/pseuds/captainoutoftime





	After the Crash

"We’ll have the band play something slow. Wouldn’t wanna step on your-"

The initial impact almost sent him through the windshield, but he held onto the steering wheel with a tenacious grip, that unlike his causal last words to Peggy, belied his fear.

There were a few moments of noise, the crash of metal into ice- and then it was silent. Steve was joyful for just a second, thrilled to be alive. And then he wished he wasn’t. There was no way he’d make it out.

He wasn’t alive. He just wasn’t dead yet.

The plane shifted, the metal groaning. Steve gasped for air through punctured lungs as the behemoth sunk below the ice, into the freezing water. Musta been the wheel, he figured, slamming into his chest was what did it to his ribs. Water trickled onto the floor, slow enough that Steve knew he wouldn’t drown. He’d freeze, if he didn’t bleed out first.

He knew, approximately, what doctors said freezing to death was like. He looked it up. If the impact of the ground hadn’t killed Bucky, it would have been the cold that did. Steve had to know. Had to know how it had felt. He’d let his best-friend-brother die. Didn’t reach far enough. Not quite. Failed him. Bucky deserved, at the very least, to have someone know how he had suffered.

It seemed fitting, Steve thought, pulling himself up to his hands and knees, that they should die the same way. He coughed, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. The water was so cold it almost seemed to burn, biting at the exposed skin of his hands, seeping through the fabric of his uniform to claw at his arms, his legs.

The silence was all-encompassing. Steve had never felt more alone in his life. He curled up as much as he could without hurting the broken ribs further, starting to breathe faster despite the difficulty, struggling not to hyperventilate too much- god it hurt his lungs- fighting the urge to scream.

He couldn’t, couldn’t. He had to die with dignity. Heat felt like a distant memory- what did sunshine feel like? Or fireplaces or warm taverns or soft embraces? Even a rough arm around the shoulders- but that was done with, Bucky was gone, gone- what was friendship like or company? Steve whimpered, hand clenching around the handle of his shield.

Tears rolled down his cheeks, and instead of feeling warm, it felt as if they might freeze in place on his skin. He’d always expected to die faster. That he’d dive in front of a bullet and just be gone. That he’d die with honor. Hoped it would be to save someone else. He’d always thought it wouldn’t be so hard. A half-strangled sob escaped his lips. It was so cold, so cold, so, so, cold and he couldn’t stop shivering.

He was dying for others, for innocent people, he knew that, took comfort in it. He’d done his job. Captain America had successfully stopped the Red Skull. Helped bring down Hyrda. Captain America had fulfilled his purpose in the war. He would be missed.

Steve Rogers would not. Not by many. Peggy. Maybe General Phillips. Howie Stark, maybe. The Howling Commandos. No one else would miss Steve. No one else would miss the skinny orphan from Brooklyn.

They’d look for him. It was that thought that pulled him out of fetal position. They’d find his body someday. Bury him. Next to his mom. And Bucky’s empty casket. He didn’t want to be found this way, curled up, sobbing like a frightened child. He wanted to die with dignity. Had to. He could hear a twelve-year-old Bucky’s voice in his ear, drowning out his father’s ‘be a man, be a man’ with a much gentler pep talk- ‘don’t let em know you’re beat, show em up’.

It was getting hard to move. He couldn’t feel his fingers, his joints were stiffening. Steve laid down on the floor, placing his hands by his side. Shield resting on his chest. Posture casket-shaped. The ice crept up around his waist. He closed his eyes and began to pray.

_Take me to go see Bucky again. Take me so I can say sorry. Take me to my mom. Take me. Take me away. Take me. Please. Please, God. Please take me so I don’t have to be alone._

_Take me out of here._

Steve let out a slow exhale and welcomed death with a handshake and a 'thank you sir'.


End file.
